


V(ox)enus & A(lastor)donis

by vol_ctrl



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Bondage, Dom Vox, Established Relationship, Feral Alastor, Feral Behavior, Gratuitous Smut, Hair-pulling, Implied Negotiation, M/M, Muzzle Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shakespearean Language, Shakespearean Sonnets, The Radio Demon Fucks, Vox Talks Like Max Headroom, classy smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl
Summary: Vox knows just how to get Alastor in the mood.(Or, in which the author writes a very self-indulgent scene of Vox and Alastor reciting Shakespeare at each other while fucking.)
Relationships: Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 153





	V(ox)enus & A(lastor)donis

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a [friend](https://twitter.com/NightExcision). Together we decided that Vox and Alastor speak in Shakespearean "code" to each other, their own private sort of language, full of connotations and subtext. Alastor because he's clever, and Vox because he likes to surprise Alastor.
> 
> Well, that snowballed into a full on analysis of Shakespeare's sonnet "Venus and Adonis," in which the goddess Venus has fallen madly in love with the mortal Adonis. She implores him to return her affection, and Adonis wants nothing at all to do with her. You can see the parallels.

_ 'Fondling' she saith 'since I have hemm'd _

_ thee here _

_ Within the circuit of this ivory pale, _

_ I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; _

_ Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in _

_ dale ; _

_ Graze on my lips ; and if those hills be _

_ dry _

_ Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains _

_ lie. _

_ 'Within this limit is relief enough, _

_ Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful _

_ plain, _

_ Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and _

_ rough, _

_ To shelter thee from tempest and from _

_ rain; _

_ Then be my deer, since I am such a park ; _

_ No dog shall rouse thee, though a _

_ thousand bark.' _

  
  


“Is that really necessary…?” Alastor’s voice was threaded with his usual composure, but tainted by a low growl, the edges of his words fuzzed with radio static.

“You rz-rx-remember what happened last time.” Vox grinned.

Alastor’s grin curled across his lips, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I recall… Oh, how you  _ screamed. _ ”

Vox masked the shiver of his spine by gripping Alastor’s hair. A little warning snarl greets him. “As mz-mx-much as like to  _ indulge  _ you, sweetheart…” He trailed off, pixels glittering on Alastor as he touched his chin. “Oz-ox-open up, baby,” he whispered sweetly.

Alastor snapped viciously at Vox’s fingers, a warning glare for using such a diminutive with him.

Vox responded by grabbing Alastor sharply by the jaw, vice-like claws bruising tight. Alastor sneered at him, muscles flexing in restraints.

“You wz-wx-want this, don’t you?” Vox taunted. “You  _ nx-nz-need  _ this…”

Alastor already felt the  _ need  _ deep in his belly. The kind of release only Vox could give him. That only Vox was worthy of. His feral hunger had only been abated by strong hands, promising him more, lashing him into place before he was consumed and senseless.

Before, only Vox could fuel his fire into an inferno. Now, only Vox could tame the savage beast.

“That’s what I thz-thx-thought,” Vox said, cocky grin glowing on his screen. “Now, oz-ox-open up.”

“You enjoy this too much,” Alastor said in a low voice. He licked his lips, then slowly opened his mouth.

“Thz-thx-this?” Vox asked innocently. “Muzzling you?” He chuckled, as if this were some casual conversation with the radio demon naked, on his knees, immobilized by a unique design of straps, on the floor of his bedroom. “No, sweetheart. Why wz-wx-would you say that?”

Alastor’s jaw shifted, a reply on the tip of his tongue.

“Wider,” Vox prompted him with a squeeze of his jaw.

Alastor’s ears twitched at the flat command. He obeyed.

Vox slid his fingers into that maw, guiding a brace between razor sharp teeth, forcing Alastor’s mouth further open. “You know I lz-lx-love to hear you shit talk,” he said sweetly. He slid the harness around the back of Alastor’s skull, those glowering scarlet eyes watching him as he fed the second brace into the other side of his mouth. “Bz-bx-but when you get like this… you dz-dx-don’t do much talking, anyway.”

Alastor growled, the sound raw, pure animal, with his mouth forced open.

“Soon,  _ fondling, _ ” Vox promised with a sweet caress of Alastor’s strained cheek.

Alastor’s brow narrowed at the word.  _ Fond-ling. _ A strange word. A word from their shared vocabulary, the antiquities of Elizabethan English. His gaze grew heady and his fangs sank against their brutal restraints; a ruined smile.

Vox stood and moved around his perfect little package, a feral radio demon all but roaring with desire, vicious claws tight at the small of his back, arms cinched to his sides with strong leather straps. He ran his claws through Alastor’s hair, over his crown, to the back of the harness. He patiently tightened the straps until they creaked under the strain, until Alastor was forced wide open. Then, he crouched down and made some final adjustments to the bondage keeping his dangerous claws from going anywhere.

“Tz-tx-tight enough for you, sz-sx-sweetheart?” Vox asked, tugging at the high collar around Alastor’s throat.

Alastor’s eyelids sank as he tested his bonds. The restraint was all the embrace he would ever want, contained his hunger to a singular point. He could fully surrender like this, feed on his insatiable hunger, give in to his feral desire. Vox would give it all to him, satiate him like no one else could.

“Now, _ fondling _ …” he hissed in Alastor’s ear, the static growled from his throat.

Alastor suppressed a shiver, skin crawling at the closeness, the shorn hair at the base of his skull standing on end. With his neck stiffly collared, he couldn’t turn to look at that screen just over his shoulder, but he could feel the glow of it, pulsing in waves.

“Sz-sx-since I have hemm’d thee here,” Vox went on, slowly rising to admire the straps holding fast around Alastor’s tense body, so tight as to bite into the skin, an embrace to hold and alight Alastor’s sensitive flesh brimming with barely-contained zeal. “Within the  _ cz-cx-circuit _ of this ivory pz-px-pale…”

Alastor arched as Vox spoke such prose to him, feeding a different kind of hunger in him. Redirecting the chaotic animal drive, blending the intellectual and the physical desire.

Vox’s finger dragged across the straps and Alastor jerked at the sensation. Too much and not enough--there, but dulled by the thick leather that bound him. His eyes snapped to follow the slow pace of Vox’s trousered legs making their way back around him.

“I’ll be a pz-px-park,” Vox said lightly as he came to stand tall before Alastor. “And thou shz-shx-shalt be my  _ deer. _ ”

Alastor met Vox’s grin with his own ruined one, jaw wrenched open with that terrible device that robbed him of his ability to rend and maim. Scarlet eyes burned into scarlet pixels, full of that familiar fire--ah, but not the fire of fury, the fire of  _ lust. _

Vox so loved Alastor in this mood.  _ Hungry  _ for flesh. He had discovered that Alastor did not always crave the hunt, but instead desired something of a different carnal nature. But when he was  _ hungry  _ like this, he couldn’t help himself. He would rend and maim all the same, even if his desire was to  _ fill  _ or, with the right precautions taken, be  _ filled. _

“Feed where thz-thx-thou wilt,” he continued to the quiet rasp of buckle and fly. “On  _ mz-mx-mountain _ ,” he growled, withdrawing his cock, half hard already from the great pleasure he’d taken in binding those dangerous wrists to the small of Alastor’s back, strapping him into the tight leather like some great claw squeezing him fast, “or in dz-dx-dale…”

As he stroked himself, he could see Alastor’s tongue lashing in his mouth. The heady sensation of the dark frequency that surrounded Alastor, that bled into his own frequencies, was like a wine on his tongue. A sensation only Alastor could deliver to him through his machine prison.

He stepped closer to that maw forced open, yet still threatening with yellowed fangs that creaked against the restraint. “Graze on my lz-lx-lips,” he purred as he reached for Alastor’s chin, lifted his snarling mouth, pressed his thumb against that lively tongue, “and if those hz-hx-hills be dry…” He lifted a considering brow, composed as he riled Alastor to a fever pitch, dragging out his descent.

A dark smile spread across his screen as he watched Alastor spread his knees, luring him closer. Alastor knew the prose as well as he, knew what the words promised, knew Vox would give him what his traitorous body craved. Hunger flashed dangerously in glowing carmine eyes, his tongue writing words he could not speak against the sharp talon as his antlers creaked and branched from two points to four.

“Stray lower,” Vox breathed in a low buzz of static, drawing his thumb down Alastor’s tongue, over his fangs like knives, pulling his aching jaw even further. “Whz-whx-where the pleasant fountains lie,” he sighed, sinking his eager cock into that gaping maw.

Alastor moaned, a low, mean sound, more creature than human, and Vox felt it--against his cock, and deep within him, resounding in his bones, scratched through his current. Something dark and monstrous, uniquely Alastor. He groaned as he raked a hand into Alastor’s hair. Those ears twitched in instinctive protest, and his head pulled away, antlers spanning two more points, but not for escape; only to feel the tug of those cruel, loving claws against his scalp.

Vox held Alastor’s head fast as he jerked his cock deep, earning a dry choke, a desperate swallow from Alastor. His tongue was worming against him, eager to devour him, wanting to  _ consume  _ him. He languished in the loud, ragged breath as he drew his cock back, and then forth again into that sloppy, open mouth.

“Wz-wx-within this limit is rz-rx-relief enough,” Vox recited in praise, looking down fondly at the tangle of red locks around his dark glove, clashing with the neon blue of his talons, as he worked his hips in little strokes against that growing buzz of radio dissonance. “Sweet bz-bx-bottom-grass and hz-hx-high delightful plain…”

Alastor was high on the powerful current pulsing in Vox’s cock, his nerves singing with the feedback from his own intense frequency. The words caressed him, almost soothed the savage beast, a recitation familiar to him, albeit never under such circumstances. Vox knew what this would do to him, mixed with the rough satisfaction of his hunger. 

“Rz-rx-round rz-rx-rising hillocks, brakes obscure and  _ rough, _ ” he punctuated with a slam of his cock to the back of Alastor’s throat. The radio demon’s bonds creaked furiously as Vox fucked his gagging throat, head annointed with an ever more dangerous rack, moans choked and aborted as he lunged in for more, tearing against the hand that attempted to restrain him.

Vox groaned as Alastor growled and whimpered, rutting like an animal against the base of his cock, antlers digging into his shirt, pressing into flesh. The stag could have gored him like this, and Vox could think of no better way to die.

“To shz-shx-shelter  _ thee, _ ” he said sharply, wrenching Alastor’s head back from his cock, his chest rising and falling heavily, “from tz-tx-tempest and from rz-rx-rain…”

Alastor’s own body was heaving, straining against the tight bonds that held him, his eyes a ruin of bloody static as he was forced to crane his neck by the merciless talons in his hair. Even his cock was throbbing, his arousal fed by a brand of hunger only Vox could draw from him. Only that  _ power  _ from Vox could incite such raw lust from him.

Vox took a moment to steady himself, to look at Alastor barely held by hand and leather, those dangerous pronged horns sprouted magnificently from his crown, to see that composed face wrought with desire just for him.

“... Then be my dz-dx-deer,” he breathed, almost in awe of the power he had leashed in his palm, “... since I am sz-sx-such a park…” His fist softened in Alastor’s hair. He had riled him up, and now he had fed him, with words and with sensation. He stroked Alastor’s hair, watched those eyes go half-mast. He knew Alastor’s jaw must be aching, and he longed to hear his voice unfettered by the muzzle.

Sweetly now, as his hand combed through Alastor’s hair to the back of his skull, “No dog shz-shx-shall rouse thee…” He cinched the release of the muzzle, and Alastor’s jaw went slack as he spat out the braces. 

His grin was a sneer at the mention of his least favorite predator, but cognizant on a primal level that Vox spoke of  _ protection.  _ The unusual code they held between each other as adversaries, to prevent any of those  _ unworthy,  _ anyone but each other, from bringing harm to the other.

“Though a thz-thx-thousand bark,” Vox finished with a grin, stroking Alastor’s cheek as he tossed aside the device that had held him. Alastor was no less dangerous now than when they had started, but he was in the right headspace, hunger tempered with lust, feral need meted with measured mind. Vox could see it in that look--that rare, precious expression of  _ want. _

“I  _ will  _ be  _ thy  _ deer…” Alastor’s voice was hoarse and mangled with the intensity dancing just beneath the surface. His eyes glittered on Vox, the shadows deepening around him as he slowly rose up on his knees. 

Vox was intoxicated by that static-scratched voice, a sound alone that promised destruction. He drank deep of the sight of Alastor, all scarred flesh striped with pristine leather, banded with wandering shadows that coiled around his thighs.

“ _Nothing_ but _thine body’s bane--_ ” With a snap of his fangs, Alastor’s shadows rushed forth, tore at Vox’s clothes, assaulted the dusky blue, static-filled flesh beneath. “--would _cure_ me.”

The restraints could only do so much to leash the powerful radio demon. Vox knew he would have to contend with his shadows, but his performance seemed to have its desired effect. The tendrils tore at his clothes, but not at his flesh. So far, so good.

Dangerous prongs scraped Vox’s flesh, just shy of piercing, as Alastor lunged forward, not to rip him open, but to  _ taste  _ him. A long tongue dragged over Vox’s abdomen, and the TV demon had the distinct sensation of being savored like a fine morsel. Alastor’s hot breath contrasted with the cold, cold of his shadows wrapping around his limbs, enticing him.

Vox, in turn, savored the sight, those fangs all but trembling to rend his flesh. It was that flirtation with destruction that Vox craved, that awoke a dark desire within him for Alastor.

“To gz-gx-get it is thy duty,” he said with a playful smirk.

It drove Alastor wild that Vox could remain so composed, even playful, while he was all but crawling out of his skin. His fangs kissed Vox’s flesh, to bring him to his level, to make him ache, but he was robbed of his prize by a sharp tug of his hair. Still, he had drawn blood--he could smell it, that unique scent of Vox’s ink-dark viscera--the Overlord’s arm scraped on horns.

“The  _ sea  _ hath  _ bounds, _ ” Alastor growled, eyes flashing as his shadows forced Vox to the ground before him, “but  _ deep desire  _ hath  _ none. _ ” A warning, a promise.

Vox’s flesh danced with electricity as his muscles tensed and those shadows forced him down. His hand did not relent, dragging Alastor’s crowned skull with him, keeping him at arm’s length, as he was dragged down in that dark embrace of roiling shadows.

Alastor strained against the fingers in his hair, drawn inexorably by the scent of blood, tongue extended lewdly as he sought out the ooze of blood from Vox’s arm. He was denied again, this time by a hard grip to his cock that made him cry out and surrender to the support of his bonds. The hunger was twisted toward lust again as his hips rutted into that hand, breath ragged.

“What is tz-tx-ten hundred touches unto thz-thx-thee?” Vox growled as his arm wrapped powerfully around Alastor’s waist, dragging him forward sharply on his knees into his lap, against his cock. “Are they not qz-qx-quickly told,” he whispered, grinding his cock against Alastor’s most tender place, that forbidden territory no man dare tread, “and qx-qz-quickly gone?” A warning of his own--not to rush. He would drag this satisfaction out slowly, toy with that line between ravenous hunger and rare lust.

Alastor growled and writhed in his bonds, gone arched, his head tilted and his thighs spread wide and trembling.

Would that Vox had lips to kiss that angle of exposed throat above his collar, to ravage those moaning lips. With a low buzz of static desire, Vox jerked Alastor hard on his cock, rolling his hips firmly against that body aching for him.

He had no lips to kiss, but he could kiss Alastor with words, sweet prose they shared most intimately. “I’ll yz-yx-yet not coy thy lips with loath’d sz-sx-satiety,” he promised, squeezing Alastor’s cock hard, making him buckle and squirm for more. “But rz-rx-rather  _ famish  _ them az-ax-amid their plenty.” His dangerous claws traveled up, pinched and massaged the head of Alastor’s cock.

Alastor panted and drove his hips desperately against Vox’s, into that merciless hand. “I am  _ thy deer, _ ” he moaned, losing to the abject lust as Vox forced him to languish it, burning white-hot in that rough touch to his cock.

Vox groaned. To see Alastor come undone in such a way, a being of carnal lust instead of visceral violence, was such a precious treat. But how could he deny him any further when he begged so? As Alastor sank toward him, as if drawn by his gravity, head tipped so as not to be halted by his own immense rack of horns, Vox sent out of his cables to fetch a little liquid assistance. He had intended to wrestle Alastor to the bed, where his tools were a bit closer at hand, but who was he to interrupt the flow of things?

“Plant oblivion,” he breathed, his hand leaving Alastor’s waist to take up the tube delivered by his cable. “Beat rz-rx-reason back,” he encouraged as he slicked his cock. Alastor’s breath caught and trembled as he felt that slick against his flesh, all but shuddering in anticipation. “Forget shz-shx-shame’s pure blush,” he growled through a grin, positioning himself against Alastor’s entrance, “and  _ hz-hx-honor’s  _ wrack.” He plunged sharply inside Alastor, his sigh of pleasure lost under a sharp cry garbled by radio interference, a shriek of noise.

Alastor was far beyond shame, rejecting honor in lieu of feeling Vox tear him open. The sweet pain set his nerves alight, shooting through his aching arms and tortured cock. Now, Vox did not tease him, did not make him wait, but took him strongly by the hips, demanding his body up and down on that cock. He relished the command the TV demon had over his body, the  _ power  _ that surged through him. He consumed Vox like this, his body tight, hungry for that cock filling him; a meal that was enjoyed again and again with each thrust.

Alastor was long gone, but that ever-present smile was there, grinning with feral satisfaction as sharp breaths were stolen from his lungs, beaten out of him by Vox’s pitiless thrusts. Vox grabbed Alastor’s sharply by the jaw, holding his head up so he could witness every second of agonized pleasure wrought on his face, claws scraping over his ass.

“Thrice fz-fx-fairer than myself,” Vox panted, his grin wild and glowing.

Alastor let out a broken moan, the contrast of sweet, antiquated words and the violent thrusts undoing him utterly.

“The fx-fz-field’s chief  _ flower, _ sweet beyond cz-cx-compare,” he growled, jerking his hips more sharply into Alastor, making him cry out in sharp bursts, the rest a wash of radio static, “ _ Sz-sx-stain  _ to all nymphs, more  _ lovely  _ than a mz-mx-man.”

Alastor pressed desperately against Vox’s hand bruising his jaw, his grinning lips trembling as his thighs failed him, his muscles melting, surrendering utterly. “ _ Voxxx, _ ” he hissed, unable to control the tension in his body, pulsing and gripping tight to that cock.

Vox’s current surged and he lunged forward, grabbed Alastor’s throat, threw him to the ground, pinned that growling, buzzing throat with his palm. His speakers nearly burst with the heat of his breath, planting oblivion inside the radio demon.

Alastor’s eyes failed with static as he came, seeing red, a blizzard of bloody noise, hearing nothing but the crash of his frequency against Vox’s current. And still Vox continued to violate his body with unrelenting thrusts, driving his high to a fever pitch. Were it not for the restraints, the thin red line of sanity, he was sure he would have taken his true form.

Vox’s moans were mangled, warped into a deep, throaty laugh of triumph. Alastor was truly his deer, like a wild bird tam’d with too much handling, power leashed at his command. He was drunk on the flood of Alastor’s frequency in his orgasm, wanted to never be free from this heady cocktail of power flowing against power, this feedback loop of ecstasy.

His own orgasm came with a final roar of current, and only then did sanity begin to creep back into his system, assisted by the sound of a distant radio playing music, albeit distorted, struggling to tune to just one station. His manic thrusts finally slowed, his current popping and sizzling with the twitch of his muscles. He let out a slow, ragged sigh, red eyes narrowed and sweet on the ruined form beneath him.

Alastor’s breath came heavy at first, straining against the device that held him. He had the faraway, glassy look of someone in the throes of a drug, so blown with indulgence. A low buzz came from his throat, his brow twitching as he felt Vox slide out of him a final time. His brow further furrowed as Vox’s hands slid down his chest, reviled by the touch over skin, leather, skin, leather, the squeeze to his hips.

Vox could see the displeasure twisted on Alastor’s features--too much touch, ruining the glow. He let his hands drift away, saw the tension lift from Alastor’s brow, returned to basking in the residual.

“Do I delight to die... or life desire?” Alastor breathed softly, his eyelids heavy and slow, antlers creaking, waning from twelve points to eight, from eight to four. “But now I liv’d, and life was death’s annoy,” he recited, gradually returning, descending from the high, ascending from the madness, “but now I died, and death was a lively joy.” His grin appeared, spread slow across his lips.

Vox grinned in return as he leaned over the radio demon. “That good, hmm?” he asked in a low voice.

“...  _ Magnificent, _ ” Alastor breathed in a static-laced sigh.

Vox swelled with pride, selfish pleasure to have known so well how to cultivate Alastor’s desire. He slid his arms around Alastor, bringing him back into his embrace. 

The red-haired demon snarled, but knew there was nothing to be done. “Let go, and let me go,” he bit out through a smile.

“Patience, my dz-dx-dear Adonis,” Vox said sweetly as he lifted from the floor and carried Alastor to the opulent bed that had been wasted in their fit of passion. He lay Alastor on his side, and the demon sank into the pillow at his head, turned almost fully on his belly so Vox could work open the fastenings.

Alastor did not mind the weight of Vox on the bed beside him, close enough to feel the glow of his current, but not so close as to touch. The ache was settling into his muscles and bones, a delicious sensation; the exhaustion after the hunt. Or, perhaps more apt in this circumstance, being hunted.

Vox loosened the straps down his spine and Alastor moaned as his limbs were freed. Last came the binds on his wrists, and Alastor bit back a delicious whimper as his nerves screamed. He pulled the straps from his body and tossed them aside. Every motion was sweet agony. He dimly admired the welts on his wrists.

“More whz-whx-white and rz-rx-red than doves or roses are,” Vox said, admiring as his fingers skimmed over Alastor’s marked flesh, red and angry where he had been bound.

It was only by the grace of the words and the sting of his nerves that Alastor shivered and allowed the touch. The radio, distant through the threshold, had settled to one station, broadcasting the brassy, moody strains of Artie Shaw’s “Nightmare.”

The radio demon slowly rose, and Vox was struck by how he moved, fluid as his shadows, sensuous. “Now let me say ‘good night,’ and so say you,” Alastor spoke the line and Vox grinned in anticipation, “If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.”

“Good nz-nx-night,” he replied.

Alastor leaned to him, hand to one side of his neck, his lips coming to the other. He felt those broad shoulders sink in pleasure as he gifted him with a kiss so tender. His eyes flashed with pleasure, appreciation, an unspoken delight, as he withdrew and eased from the bed.

“Now, don’t go getting any ideas, Venus,” Alastor said as he sauntered wearily in the direction of the en suite, full of intent for a nice soak to rid him of all the consequences of such vigorous fornicating. “You won’t woo me again tonight.”

“Young and sz-sx-so unkind!” he called in return, speaking still in that secret language of theirs. It was too sweet to forego, this bizarre particular that they both knew by heart. Even a modern man could not deny the staying power of the original bard.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, you can find more Hazbin content and updates on my upcoming works on my Twitter [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl)!


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